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3:12 p.m. - 2010-11-01
She went, "Vent Vent Vent!"

Wowzers, it's only been three days since I updated but it feels much longer. Probably because the time in between was a humongus ball of stress. Nothing epic or lastingly tragic just cartload after cartload of completely unnecessary angsty crap from Mick and my son, The Teenage Drama King.

Yes, I heard the implied question, and yes, sometimes some freaking out is necessary. For instance when the house is on fire it's a really bad time to be all laid back and say, "Whatev, I'll get to it tomorrow." House on fire? Putting a bit of urgency into your decision making is vital.

Getting to the bank five minutes earlier? Not so vital. Our lives would not grind to a screeching halt, there'd be no firing squads, no toxic marsh monsters devouring the pets, in fact there'd be ZERO negative consequence of us getting to the bank at 11:05 instead of 11:00 on the dot. Try convincing Mr Uptight Pissy Pants of that though and you're apt to be screamed at. And insulted. And lectured in a shriek that spiraled upward until the window glass shivered and my ears as well as my stomach were clenched into knots.

That's one, there were several other episodes of this sort and for the life of me I cannot figure out why Mick does this to himself and us. It's almost always over nothing too. At most it starts as a teeny little hiccup and before Mick is finished it's become a Category 5 hurricane. And an earthquake. With a tsunami. And an invasion of flesh-eating locusts.

Look, I understand that everybody has a whack-o button or two. Push one and it's off into the land of irrational fear. Or anger. Or some combo thereof. I have my own whack-o buttons, sure I do. But Mick's are many and exhausting. Feh.

The. Boy. Is. 13.

Need I say more? Nah, don't think so.

Did I tell you the Barky's next-door are putting an addition on their house? No? Well they are and quite the project it is too. It's dragged on for many weeks now and continues in erratic fits and starts. That they started this nonsense at the end of August and are just now beginning to frame will give you a pretty good idea of the stop and go nature of a project that seems to be more whim than work. At least now there's an actual crew over there. Before it was just Mr Barky and a couple of buddies pulling down the old addition and then digging and pouring the new foundation. Nothing wrong with a do-it-yourself approach and the Amish have shown us the value of all your pals pitching in and lending a hand, but Mr Barky has a voice that would cut granite. Its timbre is at once both carrying and nasally adenoidal in the extreme. And he shouts. A lot. Almost as much as Mick. When he was teaching his sons- the Nyuk-Nyuk Idiot Boys to use the riding lawn mower his frantic neurotic shouted directions week after week after week drove me to fantasies of going over on my knees and begging him to let ME mow his lawn if it meant he'd finally Shut The Fuck Up. And now he's the supposed foreman of The Home Improvement Project That Will NEVER Be Finished.

And all this because the neighbors on the other side put an addition on their house and Mrs Barky couldn't bear to be outdone. I swear, if Mrs Barky and another person were both gut shot Mrs Barky would go apeshit until she proved she was bleeding harder and dying faster than the other guy.

Aside from being Mrs One-Up Monkey See, Monkey Go One Better I can't see any reason for them to be adding onto their house at all. The daughter made her escape a few years ago and the Idiot Boys are about to graduate. It was the same mystifying thing when they got that damn dog. The kids were in high/middle school and finally old enough to start lives away from home. They couldn't give a crap about having a puppy. Sure enough, except for yelling at it to shut up I've never once seen any of those kids interacting with that dog. But nutzoid Mrs Barky will have her way. So get a puppy just as the kids get too old to want one and put a huge addition on the house just before the last kid moves out. The woman is a genius.

I have my phone turned off because I am ducking the inevitable call from the school. Wolf took his squirting flower boutonnière to school today and I'm sure he's caused all sorts of mayhem with it and then pitched a massive hissy fit after it was confiscated. And I do NOT want to hear about it. I told him that it would get him in trouble. I told him that he'd get bounced from class and have his novelty toy taken away. I warned him. That he blew me off and took it to school anyway makes it wholly his problem now.

After all the bullshit and the yelling and the refereeing fights and being hounded over the stupidest crap and Mick playing a Halloween prank that scared me so badly I screamed, wet myself and then puked, followed by a night waking up every hour in a lathery sweat and panicked, I'm pulling the plug and declaring myself Officially Unavailable. (Yes, he apologized. Sort of. He said, "I'm sorry that happened to you." Please notice the tidy sidestepping of personal responsibility. As if I was nearly struck by a meteor or some other completely random thing thrown at me by the universe instead of having the shit scared out of me by my husband who should know better.)

Heh. Later when Wolf is in tears and shouting and Mick is stalking around bellowing and the both of them are at each other's throats again and they're starving to boot and they barge in here to demand I settle things and write notes to the school and explain how families should behave for the zillionth time and then whip up a gourmet meal for their poor hungry bellies I will smile serenely and say, "You're hungry, angry, and frightened? Gee, I am sorry that happened to you. …….Now bugger off. You're on your own tonight."